J-NRLF 


EbD    SDM 


I 


£ion  at 


Lrionel    Josaphare 


GIFT  OF 

i 


Class  d   IK1 


FREI>  M.  13E\VITT 


1008   TKI.KCiRAlMI    AVK. 


Bg.. 


f  ranctsco 

.  (HofierfBon 
1901 


1901 
(gofierfaon 


Printed  by 

The  Stanley -fay  I  or  Company 
San  Francisco 


Bion 


454311 


£ion  At  ffe 


Loved  friend,  for  thee,  and  only  thee, 
I  pen  this  ink-embroidery. 
No  more  on  earth, 
For  woe  or  mirth, 
We'll  meet. 

Doubt  not  this  tale,  nor  dare  to  see  thy  friend, 
Whose  visage  weird  corroborates  his  pains. 
Thou'dst  look  on  me,  should  I  allow ; 
Thou'dst  call  my  voice  a  ghostly  sough, 
And  peer  beneath  mine  eaves  of  brow, 
Asking  if  eyes  be  there,  or  hollow  spirit. 


[6 


At  flare  of  sun,  with  sullen  gun, 
That  dreamed  of  tiger's  vein  undone, 
For  blood  and  fame, 
I  chased  for  game, 

Alone. 

My  scribbling  feet  on  earth's  fair  parchment  blotted 
Until  the  sun  fell  smoking  out  of  heaven. 
No  more  a  circle  or  a  shield, 
Like  wax  it  melted  on  the  field. 
The  day  was  wrapped  and  redly  sealed  ; 
But  that  same  night  had  things  to  show  to  me. 

O'er  highland  crag,  my  legs  I  drag  ; 
Nor  yet  the  death  of  lean-ribbed  stag, 
I  lost  my  gun. 
My  friendly  gun 

Slipped  from  me. 

I  saw  it  at  the  bottom  of  a  chasm. 
1  saw  a  fangy  thing,  like  to  an  entrail, 
With  yellowish-green  belly  glide 
Over  my  gun  that  was  my  pride, 
That  must  for  evermore  betide 
With  rock  and  reptile  in  a  futile  gorge. 


From  cliff  and  scar  I  traveled  far, 
Groping  along  without  a  star, 
To  say,  at  least, 
"Here's  west/'  or  "east," 

Or  "north!" 

No  wink  or  meaning  moved  the  face  of  night, 
That,  like  a  dumb  and  hideous  giant,  gaped. 
Much  too  exhaust  to  be  alarmed, 
I  slept  upon  the  sod  unarmed, 
And  roused  before  the  day  unharmed, 
And  waited  for  the  sun  to  give  me  light. 

With  dash,  with  glee,  the  sun  flung  free 
Its  colors  and  its  chivalry. 
I  felt  my  health 
Had  left  by  stealth, 

From  thirst. 

Soon  on  the  world  the  blue-enameled  sky 
Was  spotless,  save  of  that  one  spot,  the  sun  ; 
But  showed  me  not  a  brook  or  drain. 
On,  onward  I,  on  all  in  vain, 
Still  stuck  dead-centered  in  the  plain, 
Tasting  a  thousand  ways  ;  but  all  were  dry. 


£ion  af  fye  TOef?  [8 


Then  it  befell  I  found  a  well, 
A  lowly,  rocky,  sun-drawn  well, 
Down  twenty  feet, 
And  flashing  heat  — 

But  water  ! 

The  steep  descent  was  coigned  with  granite  prisms, 
Bottomed  but  thinly  by  this  muslin  pool. 
So  did  the  wrinkles  of  my  brain 
Therewith  close  cuddle  to  explain 
How  we  might  use  ourself  amain 
And  violate  the  beverage  below. 

While  thus  I  sat,  engaged  thereat, 
I  saw  before  me,  on  the  flat, 
A  beastly  scare, 
With  sacred  stare, 

A  lion. 

Slowly  and  draggle-tailed,  he  crawled  his  ground, 
Lifting  to  bay  defiance  at  the  skies. 

With  all  the  bankrupt  strength  he  owns, 
Shag-necked  and  drouthy-skinned,  he  moans, 
Dishonorable  crate  of  bones, 
Unlionlike  he  creaketh  towards  the  well. 


9  ] 


His  head  holds  low  ;  he  sees  the  flow  ; 
His  eyes  with  double  anger  grow. 
The  curb  he  rakes  ; 
The  crag  he  breaks  ; 

And  roars. 

I  knew  not  how  to  run  or  stay.      But  while 
He  gazed  below,  I  solved  my  thoughts  as  these 
To  flee  was  daring  miles  of  thirst  ; 
To  stay,  I  must  the  lion  durst. 
I  stayed,  still  guessing  which  the  worst. 
And  then  he  saw  me.      Still,  still,  still  stood  I. 

The  air  that  lies  between  us  dries 
In  the  hot  encounter  of  our  eyes. 
But  mine  he  brooked 
Not  long,  and  looked 

Away. 

Emboldened  by  his  fear,  I  did  advance, 
Hanging  discreetly  to  the  cliffy  brink  ; 

But  when  his  maneship  saw  my  bent, 
Enraged  at  my  emboldenment, 
Warning  across  the  cave  he  sent, 
And,  doubtful  of  his  temper,  I  desisted. 


[10 


All  through  the  day,  with  noisy  bray, 
The  jealous  brute  opposed  my  way. 
At  night  his  rage 
I  could  not  guage, 

But  watched  him. 

Catting  this  hole  of  waters,  sat  we,  or 
Consulted  mutual  oracles,  our  eyes. 
"  O  star  of  waters,  far-off  pool, 
Rise  out  thy  rocky  vestibule  ! 
Have  pity  on  a  thirsty  fool  — 
Come  back,  thou  dreamy-rising,  swindling  water  !" 

"With  whiskered  maw  and  bludgeon  paw, 
Thou  brawling  brute,  thou  wouldst  abawe 
My  thirst  from  that, 
Thou  swollen  cat, 

Thou  hell-child  !  " 

He  blinks.      Upon  the  porches  of  his  back 
The  wan  day  sits.      The  beast  thinks  to  affright  me. 
Give  me  a  sword  of  sweetsome  line  ;  • 

Spend  me  a  blade  of  razor  spine, 
Or  lend  a  knife  ;  I'll  kill  that  swine, 
Rip  him  of  tripe  and  entrail  and  disbowel  *im. 


Still  live  his  eyes,  his  tawny  eyes. 
More  than  his  claws,  I  fear  his  eyes. 
An  atheist 
He  is,  I  wist, 
I  know. 

For  did  not  God  give  us  to  lord  these  beasts  ? 
And  that  proud  criminal  will  not  obey  me. 
The  drilling  zigzag  of  those  eyes 
'Glamors  and  sprays  and  multiplies. 
The  light  behind  them  never  dies, 
But  shines  and  lives  and  waits  for  me  to  die. 

My  tongue  is  kept,  while  waves  unwept 
Go  vagrant  by  their  banks  unstept, 
While  salmon  souze, 
While  dogs  carouse 

In  waters  — 

Eternal  waters  balancing  'twixt  earth 
And  heaven.      Come,  O  thou,  some  water  now  ! 
While  I  am  death  of  dry-lipped  ills, 
Some  devil-fish  is  in  its  fills, 
Is  looting  gallons  through  its  gills, 
Of  other,  damned,  complacent,  lisping  waters. 


TOef?  [12 


The  lion  roared  his  concave  hoard 
Of  thunders.      But  our  God  ignored. 
Be  still,  thou  lion, 
Throated  of  iron, 

Roar  not  ! 

Great  God,  untake  the  devil  from  my  throat  ! 
Take  —  no.    Thou  dost  not  hear,  thou  dost  not  care. 

0  sky,  is  God  my  spirit  spurning  ? 
Or  is  he  strengthless  of  discerning 
The  solemn  soul  to  heaven  turning? 

Death  laughs  reply  and  into  my  face  coughs. 

1  could  not  speak  ;  could  meanly  wreak 
From  my  hot  throat  a  thin,  dry  squeak. 

Over  a  mass 
Of  broken  glass, 
I  breathed. 

Another  night,  and  then  the  morning  glee-song 
Will  be  my  lullaby.      And  after  that, 
For  others  will  come  other  days  ; 
The  sun  will  rise  and  seek  its  ways  ; 
And  western  window-panes  will  blaze, 
While  I  lie  here  out-thirst  before  a  lion. 


I  dreamt  the  twinkled  heaven  sprinkled 
Star-drops,  that  on  the  waters  tinkled  — 
A  fantasy 
On  cloud  and  tree 

And  well. 

I  dreamt  I  wanted  to  jump  down.      I  saw 
My  hacked  and  haggled  flesh  blood-sopped  and  oozing, 
Quenching  the  rocks  with  crimson  slime  — 
My  blood,  wretch  of  a  strange-wrought  crime. 
I  woke,  a  beggar  brat  of  Time, 
A  note  once  bugled,  and  then  heard  no  more. 

A  fingering  loon,  defunct,  bestrewn, 
All  night  I  crouched  beneath  the  moon, 
With  wide  eyes  clear, 
In  ugly  fear 

Of  dreaming. 

Had  mine  earth  nourished  me  to  cast  away  ? 
Was  I  as  worthless  as  a  clump  of  snow, 
Patted  compactly  round  and  well 
And  thrown  into  a  careless  hell  ? 
Even  the  lion  can  not  tell. 
This  tragedy  without  an  audience  goes  on. 


at  fye  TOeff  [14 


Here  is  my  end.      Feebly  contend 
My  lungs  for  air  that  soon  will  blend 
With  random  breezes, 
With  careless  breezes, 

And  be  lost. 

Upward  illumes  the  sun,  that  mouldered  ball, 
And  lays  its  tax  on  my  unwatered  hours. 
No  hissing  brooklet  on  the  view  ; 
No  clouds  are  hung  along  the  blue  ; 
No  trees  with  jewelry  of  dew. 
The  lion  sees  the  sky,  the  plain,  the  man. 

Hush  !    Hush  !    They  come,  with  fife  and  dram. 
I  comprehend  that  far-borne  hum. 
Thanks,  God,  to  thee, 
They  tread  for  me  — 

Saved  I  ! 

The  Hindu  man  with  rubied  coat,  he  comes. 
Come  golden  manes  and  brazen  hoofs  and  sphinxes, 
The  loup-garou  with  loud  bassoon, 
The  dog  with  evil  eye,  the  loon, 
The  vampire-bat,  the  jibberune, 
Awing,  afoot,  in  caravans  and  coaches. 


15]  £3e  &ton  at 


Stop  !    Hold  !    They're  gone  !     Bewinged,  out- 

flown, 

Blue-burst  in  air  and  upward  blown  ; 
Away  and  lethed, 
Nor  have  bequeathed 
•  A  sigh. 

The  sun  comes  down,  a  little,  upright  circle, 
And  tips  the  horizontal  rim  of  earth  ; 

And  earth  sucks  in  the  little  rimmer  ; 
The  saturated  sky  is  dimmer  ; 
E'en  then  a  glow  and  now  a  glimmer. 
The  lights  are  out  and  cobwebs  float  the  air. 

The  lion's  jowl  was  flecked  afoul 
With  his  diphthongal  reach  to  howl. 
His  paws  were  bled  ; 
He  buffeted 

The  rocks. 

This  exiled  king  of  beasts,  with  feazled  crown 
And  fag-end  tail,  did  dialogue  the  well. 
This  royalist,  in  pride  yet  strong, 
Was  thought.      A  puff  of  dust  went  wrong. 
Leapt,  like  an  uncoiled  snake,  endlong, 
The  lion,  down,  engulfed,  loud-fighting,  down. 


&ton  at  tye  TOeff  [16 


Thus  was  the  vault  of  sun-cracked  gault 
By  lordly  beast  shook  with  assault. 
Caves  were  unrocked, 
And  streams  unlocked 

To  flow. 

Not  in  my  dreams,  but  in  the  very  day, 
The  virtuous  waters  rose  to  where  I  kneeled. 
And  I  deforced  the  flood  with  whips, 
Derived  the  pleasure  through  my  lips, 
Bedrenched  my  face  and  sucked  the  drips, 
And  quaffed  and  laved  and  stood  and  stalked  away. 

Here  rest  I  now,  as  griefs  allow  ; 
My  face  is  raked  from  chin  to  brow 
With  lines  that  cling  — 
Time's  gardening 
Of  wrinkles. 

The  lion's  bones  are  white  below  the  well. 
Fragmental  rocks  weigh  on  his  broken  ribs, 
While  here  I  bend  and  grieve  and  think 
Or  give  my  thirsty  pen  a  drink 
Of  brightest,  blackest,  coolest  ink, 
And  write  of  my  companion  at  the  brink. 


By  a  fern,  near  a  hedge, 

Near  a  fair  garden's  edge, 
With  his  pride  in  his  eye  and  his  foot  on  a  stone, 

With  his  chin  on  his  chest, 

A  Grasshopper  pressed, 
Awaiting  his  love  ;  and  he  waited  alone. 


She  displayed  to  his  eyes, 

A  bewildering  prize, 
A  Butterfly  stained  with  a  passion  of  dyes. 

Now  at  stop  and  now  flirting, 

Half  come,  half  reverting, 
She  descends  to  her  lover  in  bashful  surprise. 


cmb  t$e     utferf  [20 


Dark  was  he  ;  and  she,  fair. 

They  were  fated  to  pair 
By  the  angels  in  heaven  who  make  lovers'  matches. 

He  was  firm  ;  she  uncertain. 

Like  cornice  and  curtain 
One  holds  to  the  other  ;  one  falls  and  one  catches. 


The  vermilion  glows 

Of  the  ripe,  fleshy  rose, 
With  lilac  in  flames  and  golden-spoked  gleams, 

Rejoice  on  her  wings  ; 

And  the  summer  day  sings 
In  the  stress  of  her  beauty  and  opulent  beams. 


Arabesque  and  bespangled, 

Illumined  and  angled, 
With  silver  dust  shaken,  with  green  shadows  grained 

With  rococo-spun  tracings 

And  filigree  lacings, 
The  quaking  fly  rested  in  tremors  unfeigned. 


21  ]  £0e  (Bra660o^er  <mb  t$e  Qgutf  erf  fg 


And  demurely  she  wisted. 

And  shyly  she  listed 
The  tale  of  his  love  that  was  frenzied  and  free. 

While  his  eye  was  aghast, 

All  trifling  was  past  — 
He  was  jealous  and  wroth  of  the  bumblebee. 


Well  may  the  fly  tremble, 

Nor  seek  to  dissemble  ; 
When  in  anger  the  hopper  was  reckless  in  tone. 

And  her  little  head  rings 

At  the  terrible  things 
That  he  threatens  to  do  if  she  looks  at  the  drone. 


Then  she  wept  on  his  breast, 

And  the  fellow  confessed, 
With  a  low-chuckled  laugh,  that  he  did  not  mean  half 

Of  what  he  had  said. 

And  he  stroked  her  poor  head, 
And  he  stilled  her  alarms  with  his  libertine  chafF. 


anb  f0e     utferf  [22 


He  said:    "Oh,  thine  eyes 

Are  like  the  sunrise, 
Except  that  the  sun  is  only  one  ! 

And  more  brilliance  have  you, 

For  of  eyes  you  have  two." 
So  was  invoice  in  full  of  her  glamors  begun. 


"  Thy  mouth  is  as  thin 
As  the  head  of  a  pin, 

Thy  breath  is  as  sweet  as  jessamine. 
Thy  footing  light 
Dost  never  blight 

The  skin  of  the  tulip  when  it  is  white." 


They  made  love  for  a  while 

On  top  of  a  stile ; 
They  loved  it  throughout  the  afternoon. 

At  the  hour  of  nine, 

On  the  blue-grape  vine, 
They  loved  'neath  the  eyes  of  the  chaperon  moon, 


23  ]  £0e  (BraBBflopper  cmb  tfc  Qg 


Like  a  swirling  sirocco 

In  panting  Morocco, 
His  passion,  at  rampant,  devasted  his  soul. 

He  neglected  his  rations 

And  usual  vocations  ; 
At  the  gateway  of  Love  he  paid  heavy  toll. 


Though  his  love  was  cyclonic, 

'Twas  needly  platonic ; 
Her  soul  was  pale  as  a  gleam  of  the  moon. 

Then  he  spat  out  brown  juice, 

And  exclaimed  "  Oh,  the  deuce  !  " 
While  she  wished  she  had  died  in  her  silken  cocoon. 


So  their  pathos  was  short ; 

There's  no  more  to  report, 
Save  that  she  is  dead,  she  is  dried,  she  is  stricken, 

Collected  with  flies, 

With  a  pin  through  her  thighs, 
And  her   hero  was  nabbed  and  gulped  by  a  chicken. 


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